


Doing the Right Thing

by thedevilchicken



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Rise of Kylo Ren (Comics)
Genre: Barebacking, Clothing Kink, First Time, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedevilchicken/pseuds/thedevilchicken
Summary: Sometimes, Kylo wonders if what happened with Ren was the only way.
Relationships: Ren/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Fandom 5K 2020





	Doing the Right Thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fairleigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fairleigh/gifts).



Sometimes Ben wonders if he did the right thing. 

It's not often, because those kinds of doubts are the kind of thing his father's death helped purge him of. He believes wholeheartedly in the First Order's ideals and he believes the things he's done to further those ideals have been completely necessary. But that doesn't mean he doesn't wonder. Sometimes. 

It's always at night, when he's in bed with the lights turned out, in dark so complete it's almost like that night on Varnak and he can almost convince himself he's not alone. He lies there and in the place between waking and sleeping he wonders if there might have been another way. But it's not his father he's thinking of, or his uncle Luke's old friend Lor, or his mother's rebels, or Hosnian Prime. 

What he's thinking about is Ren. 

\---

"Find him some clothes," Ren said, that day on Varnak. "I mean...we're the Knights of Ren. We have a reputation." 

His Jedi robes were a tattered mess and he hadn't even thought to keep a spare set on the _Grimtaash_ , which he's pretty sure Luke would have called poor planning on his part but he's also pretty sure he doesn't care what Luke would have thought. He just remembers one of the Knights - he can't remember which and they all seemed the same at the time - took him by the elbow and once he was done flinching, they took him to the _Night Buzzard_. The ship was bigger than the _Grimtaash_ , but he couldn't have called it better; he remembers being led down the narrow central gangway to a common area, past ducts and panels where scavenged parts of better ships had been plumbed in haphazardly, so many of them that he was pretty sure if they'd just sold the parts they'd have had enough credits on hand to buy a nice shiny new ship and not have a need to fly around in that jigsaw puzzle piece of crap. But maybe they were attached to it, or maybe it was tied up in that precious Knights of Ren reputation, and he didn't ask. He just went with them and watched as they attempted to piece together a suitable new outfit for him from what they had on board. 

Of course, the issue was that everything they had on hand was theirs. There was no Jedi sense of what's mine is yours, no selflessness, and what they were willing to give up was less sensible as an outfit than the torn robes he was still wearing. So, while the Knights argued half-heartedly amongst each other, Ben slipped back out of the ship and up to the cantina, and he rejoined Ren at the bar. He'd taken his helmet back off again so he could drink and it was sitting on the stool at his side; when he noticed Ben approaching, which was so immediate that he probably felt him in the Force, he picked up the helmet and he put it on the bar to make room for him to sit. 

"Either I need to have a conversation about keeping ruined Jedi robes on the ship or you didn't change," Ren said. "Something wrong?"

"They don't like to share," Ben replied, and Ren chuckled. He shrugged. 

"No, they don't like to share," he agreed, then he looked Ben up and down as they sat there together, slowly, appraisingly, like he was a thing he'd found and might sell or keep depending whether or not its worth to him personally outweighed its value to the galaxy at large. Ben felt small under that gaze, and he hated it, and he felt his cheeks turn hot. 

"You can't run around looking like that," Ren said. He gestured at him, at the torn robes, patches where more skin showed through than Ben would've liked, like a slash across one thigh where Ren poked his finger through and stroked the skin beneath. "It might work as a distraction but we don't usually need those. The Shadow gives us everything we need."

"Except clothes," Ben said. 

Ren laughed warmly. "Except clothes," he agreed. "But it gives us the means to get credits to buy them if we need to." He stood up. He picked up his helmet but he didn't put it on. "I have enough credits to buy you clothes you won't fall out of," he said. "Then you won't have to wear Trudgen's old underwear. How does that sound?"

Ben had to admit the prospect of new clothes to go with his new life sounded preferable to hand-me-downs from someone called _Trudgen_ , so he found himself nodding and saying a bland, "That sounds great." Ren turned and strode away and Ben followed close behind, winding their way between cantina tables to the platform's central point. From the air, Varnak looked almost uninhabited, just a handful of spaceports spread over one small area, stilts in muddy water between patches of what might have been dry land. Closer in, Ben had realized there was no dry land on Varnak at all, just marshes held together loosely by the roots of trees. It seemed like spaceports were all there was, landing pads on spokes off central hubs like where he'd landed the _Grimtaash_ , but Ren pressed a button and the central section of the gangway they were standing on started to descend. 

The buttons were labelled 1-18 and they disembarked at level 14, in the port beneath the water with its thick layers of transparisteel keeping the murky water back. It looked like any of two dozen spaceports across the galaxy that he'd seen on artifact-hunting missions with his uncle Luke - there were bars with lurid neon signs and a casino that they walked by briskly that looked like the kind of place Ben's father might've owed money for sabacc, two weapons stores and a pawn shop and a club with a strategically blurred-out holo of a naked Twi'lek dancer that was playing in the air outside instead of a sign. They didn't stop, though, and Ren didn't seem impressed. 

"Is that what's happening inside?" Ben asked, as they walked on, and Ren turned his head to look at him. Ben wondered if the Force would have told Ren where the people were if they hadn't moved out of his way, but he didn't find out because the fact was they did move. All of them. Maybe they knew who he was, or maybe they just didn't like the look of the shirtless guy with the burned-up torso. Ben did. Not that he should've been admitting that even to himself. Ben had liked the look of him the first time he'd seen him, that day with Luke on Elphrona.

"Sure, I guess," Ren said. "I don't spend a lot of time in those kinds of places." And when Ben frowned, Ren's mouth twisted in what looked like real amusement and he said, "Let's just say she's not my type."

Ren looked away and didn't elaborate and, as they walked on, Ben couldn't help but wonder what that meant, if it meant anything at all, though it had seemed to mean something. Did Ren not like Twi'lek girls? She'd been good-looking and danced the way people in those kinds of places seemed to like, so maybe that was it. Maybe he preferred more lekku and Nautolan women did it for him, or he liked humans or Rodians or...maybe not women at all. Ben's face flushed. He clenched his fists, and he told himself that was just his own pathetic adolescent fantasy rearing its ugly head again. So he resisted the urge to ask. He wondered if Ren had meant him to.

Soon enough, Ren turned off the main street and into a shop. 

"We usually take what we need from the dead but since you haven't really killed anyone..." Ren said, somewhere between teasing and pointed, and he gestured around the shop floor. It was the sort of place smugglers and mercenaries might go to buy clothes and armor that made them look intimidating, all bits of breastplates from stormtroopers and a piece of Mandalorian armor here and there, no full sets but it wasn't like Ben wanted to dress up like some lost remnant of Mandalore anyway. He'd always thought it looked tacky.

"What should I get?" Ben asked, as he flicked through a rack of jackets. 

"Anything as long as it's black," Ren replied, and when Ben frowned at him he grinned and said, "The reputation wasn't a joke, kid. You want to dress in chartreuse, go back to your mom; the senate loves that shit." 

Ben frowned. He glanced around. He grimaced. "Help me choose?" he said, awkwardly, hating that he felt that, hating that he'd asked. And for a second it looked like Ren might tell him _screw that_ , he was already paying and did he look like he spent a lot of time buying his clothes in nice shops - not that the sticky floor and the guy at the counter eyeing them like he had a blaster just out of sight and his finger on the trigger said much for the niceness of the establishment. It was strange, really; Ben had never bought a single item of clothing in a store, because his mom was Leia of Alderaan who'd had his clothes made to measure and you didn't just get Jedi robes from the local market. 

Ren looked like he'd refuse but then he laughed and shook his head and Ben watched all those silver braids shift against his neck. "Sure, kid, I'll help," he said. "I never played with dolls when I was young but I guess it's never too late." He winked, which made Ben's insides clench almost embarrassingly, then he set about the task at hand.

So, in the end, Ben didn't choose. He guesses he'd never really had a choice before - he'd been issued robes at the temple and so Ren combing through racks of clothes of all different colors and styles and pulling out this black one and that black one and holding them up against him like his own private dark side stylist was weird but not something he found completely foreign. Ren chose. He made him try bits on, stripping down to his bare chest in the middle of the store to pull a shirt on to try it for size or kicking off his boots to try on a black pair instead. He had Ren's full attention, and he found he liked that very much. 

He pulled on a sleeveless thing and Ren laughed and squeezed his bare biceps with his one bare and one gloved hands. "I like the look but it's not you, kid," Ren said. "As much as it pains me to say it, you're going to want to cover up."

"You don't," Ben replied, and Ren shrugged his shoulders. He looked more scarred than the last time they'd met, Ben thought, but it was difficult to say with any certainty how it had happened. Maybe he'd done it to himself - that didn't seem out of character with what little Ben knew about him, and he'd done his research over the years. He'd poked at what few records he could find about the Knights of Ren, trying to figure out who Ren was, this guy who'd made him an offer back on Elphrona and who'd sensed the dark side in him, but had been smart enough to know not to go up against Luke Skywalker one-on-one. And honestly, he hadn't found much, just occasional snippets of holo footage where Ren was always wearing his mask. Ben had almost convinced himself he'd imagined Ren's face and it had been just as scarred as the rest of him, except there he was, with his broad jaw and his even features and his bright blue eyes. He didn't seem to have aged much, either, not the way Ben had, though he guessed that was more growing up than growing old. 

"Sure, I don't cover up," Ren said. He gestured at his own scarred torso. "You don't find this intimidating? But I'm sorry to say no one's gonna be intimidated by your arms, kid."

Ben looked at Ren's skin. Even close up, he couldn't figure out what had done it - he guessed he could've asked but he figured maybe it was a little early in their acquaintance for that. He'd've liked to have touched, too, but it was definitely too early for that, if ever. He pulled his gaze back up to Ren's face. 

"Do you _want_ to intimidate me?" he asked. 

"I don't think a few scars are going to intimidate you." 

"That's not what I asked."

Ren smiled. "Yeah, I know," he said. "And no, I don't."

"Then maybe you could put a shirt on." 

Ren's smile broadened. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Ben wasn't sure he'd ever seen his uncle smile like that, so carefree and genuine - he always acted like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders, or at least the weight of his own Jedi temple, but he got the distinct impression that Ren was nothing like that. Ren had even taken what he'd said the right way, not the _I don't like how your scars look_ way he'd belatedly realized he could've heard it when he'd asked him to wear a shirt.

"How do you know I own one?" Ren asked. 

Ben shrugged. "I guess if you don't, you could buy one," he replied. 

Ren rubbed his mouth with his one not-gloved hand and frowned in exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Sure, maybe I will," he said. Then he dropped into a crouch to pick his helmet up from where he'd left it on the floor. He looked up at Ben from down there, balancing on the balls of his feet, and Ben resisted the immediate twin urges to nudge him over or run his fingers through his hair. He wasn't sure which urge was stronger, or which Ren would find more unwelcome. "But you first, yes? You're the one who looks like they got mauled by a zillo beast." 

When Ren popped back up to his feet, he was closer than before; Ben could feel the heat of him, like he was burning up under his skin, like maybe the scars were coming from the inside. Ren put his gloved hand on Ben's shoulder and stroked his throat with his gloved thumb and Ben shivered in spite of himself. Ren grinned again, like he knew exactly what he was doing to him. Then he pointed out another rack of clothes. 

It took an hour, and Ben would've liked to have said he hated it except he didn't hate it. Ren's attention was focused on him in ways that no one's attention had ever been before: Ren stood behind him as he looked in the mirror, arms circling him to smooth his shirt down over his chest; Ren went down on one knee to help adjust a blaster holster, his fingers brushing against Ben's thighs. Then, his Jedi clothes bundled up under his arm and his old boots dangling from one hand, Ren led him to the counter and slid the appropriate credits to the vendor. 

"Could you dispose of these?" Ben asked, putting the old clothes down on the counter - it wasn't like he could wear them again anyway and he was pretty sure no one on the _Night Buzzard_ was going to offer to patch them up for him. The vendor nodded and when Ben turned around, Ren had taken his cloak off and was pulling a shirt on over his head. It was black, and it was tight, almost what Ben would've called clingy, with long sleeves that ran down to the middle of his palms and held in place with thumbholes. 

"What do you think?" Ren asked, as he held his arms out and turned around. Ben's mouth felt dry - somehow Ren looked almost better in the shirt than out of it, like a regular guy, if that guy had felt like a shivery cold spot in the Force and a furnace when you got in close. The shirt was almost like a second skin, and Ben could almost see the definition of muscles in his back and his chest and his abdomen even more clearly than he could without it. "Does it suit me?"

Ben stepped in closer. He ran one hand down over Ren's chest, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles, feeling the heat of him through it, feeling the twists of his scars. "It suits you," he said, then he stepped away again. Ren put on his cloak and he picked up his helmet. Ren paid the guy. And then they left together. 

"You hungry, kid?" Ren asked, as they walked. 

Ben couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. He nodded, and Ren clapped him on the back, and he led him into a cantina nearby. It was the sort of place Ben couldn't imagine his mom ever going, but he'd been to plenty of them himself; Luke had always told him to be careful, there were dangerous people in places like that, but walking in with Ren...he understood _he_ was one of those dangerous people now. 

"Pick a seat," Ren told him, so he took a booth by the wall with a view of the room and when Ren came over and slid into the seat there opposite him, he nodded and looked around. "Nice choice," he said. "Either that was luck or you know what you're doing." 

"I know what I'm doing," Ben said, though honestly he didn't feel much like he did. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. The clothes he was wearing felt strange and the blaster holster at his thigh was empty, and the way Ren looked at him had him on edge. Then, when Ren reached over the table and set one big hand on his, Ben flinched but didn't pull away. 

"You're nervous," Ren said. "I don't need the Force or whatever you call it to tell me that." He squeezed Ben's wrist. His fingers felt hot and the fabric of Ren's new shirt brushed Ben's hand and made him shiver. At least he was pretty sure it was the shirt. "Look, I'm not gonna kill you tonight. Honestly? I hope I don't have to kill you ever. The Knights could use some new blood and Snoke's not wrong too often. Sit back. Have a drink. Enjoy the food. Enjoy the company." He smiled. He patted Ben's hand and then sat back, stretching his arms out wide over the back of his side of the booth. "Don't break my heart and tell me I'm not fun to be around, kid."

The way Ren sat made his muscles pull taut. The way he sat made his shirt pull tighter. Ben winced. "It's not that," he said, but he wasn't sure how to explain what it was without sounding like a silly teenager with a ridiculous crush instead of a valuable asset to the Knights of Ren. He wasn't a teenager anymore, though. No matter what Ren called him, he wasn't a kid. But then, conveniently, the food arrived and forestalled his explanations. 

It was fish. Maybe. Maybe, generously, it was fish. It looked like a creature formed entirely of mud the color of Varnak's murky water, and tasted a lot like it, too. Ren didn't seem terribly impressed, either, but he did eat it, with copious amounts of ale that admittedly did seem to help with the taste somewhat. He watched him leaning there on one forearm and eating with a fork in his other hand, no pretty table manners like back on Hosnian Prime or the tricks they sometimes practiced at dinner at the temple, where they only got to eat quickly if they fed each other, making food float through the air with the Force. 

"You're watching me," Ren said, and he looked up from his maybe-fish, fork in hand. 

"Sorry," Ben replied. 

"Don't be. It's flattering." He tapped his fork on the edge of his plate, metal on metal making a dull sort of ting. He smiled. "Don't you want to ask me questions?" he said. "People usually want to know how I got the scars. They want to know how much of me has them. You don't want to know?"

Ben frowned. He looked down at his own plate, unappetizing as it was. Even the temple food had been better. "I figured asking wouldn't be polite," he said. 

Ren leaned on the table on both elbows. He leaned closer. "Don't you want to know how many men I've killed? Usually that comes up pretty fast. People like to know."

"I figured you'd tell me if you wanted me to know."

"What, it's more of a third date kind of a question?" Ben looked up sharply and Ren laughed. Ben blushed and looked away again and Ren leaned back against the back of the booth. "You know, I killed my mentor. Not a nice guy. Not like me. I fucked him first - I spent a whole lot of time fucking him, and then I put him out of his misery. _My_ misery. Mostly my misery." He tilted his head. His neck stretched. His braids dangled. His blue eyes were straight on Ben. "Do you want me to be your mentor, kid?"

Ben swallowed. He took a mouthful of ale and swallowed that. He put his mug down, looking at Ren in the low light, trying to figure out what he was asking, if there was some kind of double meaning, if he was being teased, but Ren didn't look like he was teasing him. Ren had his arms on the back of the booth again, completely open, like he had nothing to hide. Ren said he'd fucked his mentor. Ren said his mentor had been a guy, and he'd fucked him. And maybe that wasn't true, maybe he'd made it up just for effect, but the fact he'd said it seemed to mean something. Maybe his own adolescent fantasies hadn't been so completely wrong after all, maybe his ideas about why Ren wasn't interested in the Twi'lek dancer weren't so wrong, maybe the things Ben had imagined in bed at night back at the temple weren't so totally out of the question. It was tantalizing.

"Yes," he said. 

"Is that all you want?"

Ben pressed his fingertips to the tabletop till they turned white. "No," he said. 

Ren smiled. "That's good," he said. "'Cause when we leave, I'm gonna ask you to repay me for the clothes. And I know you've got no credits." 

They drank some more. They finished their terrible food. And, as they were sitting there, as Ben was wondering what he'd meant by _repay_ , a fight broke out across the room. It wasn't the first time Ben had seen a fight break out in a cantina and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last, and Ren stood up. Ben joined him, and Ren stepped in close. While half the cantina's occupants, who'd obviously been spoiling for a fight, got into it, he leaned in by Ben's ear and said, "So, kid. Do you want to fight or do you want to fuck?"

The sound of his voice and the heat of his breath and his hand resting lightly at Ben's waist all conspired to make him shiver as all the warmth inside him rushed down to his cock. 

"Both?" he replied, and Ren laughed out loud. He turned. He drew his lightsaber and helit it up, bright red. 

"Good answer," he said, then he joined the fight. Ben followed, his own blue lightsaber already humming in his hand. And, when they were done, barfight over, no one dead but some of them looking like it might've been the greater mercy, they shut off their sabers and they turned to each other. Ben was breathless, but not just from the fight. He would've let him have him right there, he thought, in front of everyone, bent over a table, or he'd've gone down on his knees and shown them his devotion to the Knights of Ren. But then Ren scooped up his helmet from their table and gestured broadly toward the door. 

They didn't speak on their way out. They didn't speak on their way back up to the surface, or as they made their way across the platforms to the _Night Buzzard_. The other Knights were back out at the cantina and the ship was empty except for a whirring astromech droid and Ren led him past it, down the gangway, new boots clanking on the deck plates. He pushed a button in a recess by a door that slid open and he stepped inside and Ben followed him, and once the door slid shut again behind them and the stark white lights flickered into life, Ben knew they were in Ren's quarters. 

"Look, I know you just got them but you're gonna want to take the clothes off," Ren said, as he tugged his cloak off over his head and slung it over the back of a chair. There was a creepy mannequin head on the dresser that he put the mask over, then he sat down on the edge of his big, unmade bed; the thing took up almost half the room, but Ben guessed maybe he didn't really need a whole lot of space aside from that. He leaned back, resting on his forearms, lounging there with his feet still on the floor, stretched out in a way that made Ben's insides feel tight and hot and awkward. 

So, he took off his newly-acquired clothes while Ren watched him. He took off the blaster belt that Ren had helped him put on. He took off the bandolier and the jacket and he slung them over the back of a chair, took off his boots, his shirt. Ren whistled and Ben cringed, not because he thought he was being mocked but because Ren was still fully clothed and there Ben was, unfastening his pants. He pushed them down. He took his underwear with them, thumbs hooked into the waist. When he turned to look at Ren, half-hard, unsure what he was meant to do with his hands, Ren grinned from ear to ear. 

"Well, look at that," he said. He shifted, freeing up one hand to gesture at Ben as he stood there naked. "So, you've been thinking about me every time you jerked off for the past ten years, right?"

Ben frowned. His cock stiffened and Ren laughed as he saw. "I'm gonna take that as a yes," he said. He laid back, tucking one arm under his head and making his new shirt ride up. A strip of scarred skin showed just above the waist of his pants and Ben wanted to touch it; Ren maybe knew because he ran his own bare fingers over that strip of bare skin, then tucked them down to the knuckles under the waist of his pants. "Let me guess. _Now_ you want to know how much of me's scarred."

Ben nodded. Ren sat himself up. Ren stood himself up, too. He put one foot on the bed and unfastened his boot and he took it off, then he did the other, and dropped them to the deck with a sudden clank that made Ben flinch. Then he pulled off his belt and he pushed his pants down over his hips. He bared himself from waist to toe, still in his shirt, and Ben looked at him, Ben's eyes moved over him as he felt a drop of moisture start to leak from the tip of his cock. Ren's scars stopped by his hips and then spread down over one thigh, curled around one calf, but his cock was long and thick and blemishless, hanging heavy from the midst of curls that matched the silver of his braids. Ren stepped out of his discarded clothes and nudged them aside with the outside edge of one bare foot, still in his tight new shirt. He wrapped one hand around his cock and stroked and Ben watched him stiffen quickly. He watched him ease back his foreskin and expose the tip beneath and Ben's chest felt tight. He wanted to suck him. He wondered if Ren would let him do it if he asked. 

"On your hands and knees on the bed, kid," Ren said, and swept one hand toward it. Ben did as he was told; he went to the bed and he knelt on it, and felt the mattress shift as Ren followed him. He felt Ren's hands at his thighs, encouraging him to spread his knees a little wider. Once he had, one of Ren's hands reached between his thighs, gave his cock a stroke from where he was behind him, then squeezed his balls and made him gasp. No one had ever touched him like that before. He wondered if Ren knew. 

Then Ren's palms found Ben's cheeks and he felt him spread them. He felt Ren's thumb brush his hole. He heard him chuckle lowly as Ben felt his rim pull tight. 

"You're nervous again," Ren said. "Anyone'd think you were a virgin, kid." Ben took an unsteady breath. He felt the mattress shift as Ren moved in close. "Fuck, you _are_ ," he said, and he stroked Ben's hole with the tips of two fingers, lightly, making his insides flutter. "I guess what they say about the Jedi's true. You know, all that repression can't be good for you." Ben didn't disagree. He just shuffled his knees out wider, his stiff cock and his aching balls hanging heavily. He wished Ren would touch them. 

"Look, I don't like being anyone's first," Ren said, though he didn't stop stroking him. "But maybe I can make an exception. Just this once." Then he ducked his head down and the next thing Ben knew, he felt Ren's warm breath against his hole. His face went hot. He swallowed. And Ren pressed his mouth against him. "You're really dry down here," he said, and accented his point by licking him wetly with the flat of his tongue. "If we're gonna do this often, kid, you'll need to keep yourself ready. You know what I mean?"

Ben shook his head. Ren tutted then trailed the tip of his tongue around his rim. "I might want you at a second's notice," he said. "And I get the feeling fighting turns you on so hey, maybe you'll want me. You'll need to be ready. Keep your hole nice and slick. Give me your hand." Ben shifted his weight and reached one hand back; Ren took it, and he reached for a jar by the bed, and he slicked Ben's fingers with the contents. Then he brought them back and down between his cheeks. He rubbed Ben's fingers against his own hole and Ben let him do it. Ben let him push the first one into him, his hole stretching around it, his face hot. He let him push the second one in, too, right up to the knuckles, as he pulled tight around them. Then Ren left them there and sat back to watch as Ben fucked himself with them. 

"Just like that," Ren told him. "Two, three times a day should work. Right? Our little secret." His voice sounded strained and he ran his hands over the backs of Ben's thighs, up to the curve of his ass to spread his cheeks and watch him fuck himself more clearly, his fingertips stroking the place where Ben's pushed inside. Then he took Ben's wrist and eased his fingers back out again. Ben saw him reach for the lubricant. He heard it as Ren slicked himself and then he felt it as Ren pressed the tip against his hole. Ben held his breath. Ren pushed inside, his hands gripping tightly at Ben's hips. He pushed in deep in one sharp thrust, filling him up suddenly and completely, and made him groan out loud with it.

It seemed to last forever. He'd expected it to be quick but it wasn't - Ren had stamina like a Jedi, not a mercenary, and he fucked him slowly, grinding into him, his hands dipping forward to grip Ben's thighs right where they merged into his groin and he squeezed there as he fucked him. He felt one of Ren's hands slip between his legs and squeeze his balls, firmly, tightly, making them ache but not with pain. He felt him push in deep and then rub his slick rim with his fingertips, felt him take his cock in his hand from behind him, overhand, thumb to the underside, stroking slow and tight till Ben was gasping. He pulled him up till his back was pressed against his clothed chest. He pulled out, shoved him down, turned him over, hooked one of Ben's calves over one shoulder and pushed back in so they were face to face. When he drove in deep, Ben groaned out loud and gripped Ren's shoulders that were still in that tight black shirt. Then he sat himself up and he pulled it off over his head, and Ben put both his hands on Ren's extensive scars. It made Ren groan. It made him buck his hips and push in deeper and stroke Ben's cock until he came with the length of Ren's cock still pushed up inside him. He spasmed around it, uncontrollable, pushing himself down onto it, and Ren bit his own lip as he thrust in deep and came in him. 

Ben expected him to pull back right away, to pull out and tell him to get dressed and get out; he didn't. Ren did pull out, that was true; he eased back with a grimace and a groan he didn't try to muffle and then he stretched out on his side there next to him, naked and messy, a faint smile on his face as he propped his head up on one hand. "Turn this way, kid," Ren said, and Ben frowned but he did it; he turned toward him and Ren hitched one of Ben's thighs up to rest over his own, and he ran his fingertips down the line of his spine. Ben's eyes went wide as Ren's fingers found his hole and pushed inside; he was still loose from Ren's cock, and still slick with his come, so two fingers pushing in was easy enough. It made his cock twitch. That made Ren laugh. 

"So, you liked that?" he asked, as they lay there, his fingers inside him, rubbing a spot in there that made Ben's chest feel tight and his balls begin to ache. 

"I liked that," Ben replied. 

Ren leaned in. He kissed him, not softly but not roughly, maybe firmly, though Ben didn't really know what to do. Ren told him to relax his lips, keep them soft, teeth out of the way, a little tongue...they tried again, and again, slowly, Ben's fingers in Ren's braided hair, Ren's fingers in Ben's ass, until Ben was stiff and leaking there against Ren's belly. Ren made him come while he kissed him, then he wiped them both off with his own new shirt. And when they were done, he clicked the light off. It was perfectly dark in there, stretched out at Ren's side, as he pulled the blanket up to cover them both. 

"We'll get you set up with your own room in the morning, kid," Ren said, by way of explanation, then he patted Ben's abdomen underneath the sheet. "Besides, it'll be easier for you to get on top of me in the morning if you sleep in the same room." So that was what they did; they slept the night in Ren's room and in the morning, Ben slicked Ren's cock with lube-slicked hands and straddled him, pushed him up inside himself and rode him till he came just from the feel of it. Ren came inside him, pulsing, smiling, his big hands framing Ben's waist.

Maybe he hadn't given him a good death yet, but at least it seemed like there was something else he could give him. 

\---

Later that mission, he killed Ren. He put his lightsaber through him. He ended his life. 

Now, years later, he lies awake in bed and he thinks of him. And he wonders, might there have been another way? 

Sometimes he thinks he could have killed someone else instead - one of the miners, one of the Jedi, one of the other knights if he'd felt that way inclined. He might've walked away from that planet a full-fledged Knight of Ren and walked into Ren's quarters with him, not instead of him. He thinks about the things they might've done together, places they might've gone, things he might've learned, about the Force and not just sex. But there would've been sex, too, he thinks - he'd've sucked Ren's cock till he tasted his come and he thinks Ren might've done the same for him, all silver braids and those blue eyes sparkling. He thinks about keeping himself ready for him, so Ren could have him at a moment's notice, whenever either of them wanted it, against a bulkhead on the ship or an alley wall behind some seedy bar, the pilot's seat of the _Night Buzzard_ as space zipped by outside. He'd have liked that, he thinks - fighting in the day and fucking at night, Ren's tongue between his cheeks, Ren's come inside him. 

He wonders if there might have been another way, but there's no other way that would've led him here: Snoke's dead, and the First Order's his, and for that Ren had to die. 

But that doesn't mean he won't always remember.


End file.
